


Faithful

by Megg33k



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Anti-Religious Themes, Consensual Violence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Monk!John, Oral Sex, References to Suicide, Self-Flagellation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, War, Winglock, angel!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megg33k/pseuds/Megg33k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU (Monk!John & Angel!Sherlock) in which John Watson's life has not gone as planned, and it's about to get even stranger...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Arms of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suprise329](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=suprise329).



> Written as a request. This is a very heavy piece... I have no excuses or apologies... I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Inspired by this amazing fanart:  
> http://somachiou.deviantart.com/art/the-Temptation-201680268

My name is John Watson, and this is the story of how I lost my faith in the arms of an angel. That story, however, cannot be told until you understand who I am and how I became the man standing before you. My story is long, often sad, and almost always impossible to believe. Right now, I will make you three promises… no more, no less: I speak the absolute truth, for no one of sound mind would ever dream to create the events thrust upon me. I wouldn’t change a single moment of my tale. And, I am truly happy.

The pew creaked beneath me. It could have been my aging joints, but I preferred to blame aging wood and shoddy construction instead. My birth certificate insisted I wasn’t old enough to creak yet, but my body begged to differ most days. Perhaps I had put it through too much and too quickly.

Regardless, when I took my seat on the hard, wooden bench a few moments before, I thought nothing of the action. After all, I had already been doing it several times a day since I joined the monastery what felt like a great many years earlier. This day should have been no different, but it was. Like nearly all of life’s defining moments, another of mine had sneaked up on me and caught me completely off-guard.

As the inky black feather floated from the rafters and landed on my robe, my life cleaved into two parts: Everything which had transpired before that moment, and everything which would transpire after it. I picked up the feather and studied it before turning my gaze skyward, and what I saw was impossible. But, wait… I’m getting ahead of myself. I always want to hurry to get to the good bits… everything before is just so… bleak. Still, you must understand who I am and how I became the man standing before you…

My name is John Watson. I was a doctor by way of trade, a soldier by way of choice, a husband by way of luck, a father by way of miracle, a widow by way of fate, and childless again by way of… well… there’s just no word for that, is there? Losing your spouse makes you a widow. Losing your parents makes you an orphan. Losing a child, however, just breaks you, and no one has found a word filled with enough anger or sadness or pain to embody how it feels. So, with nothing else left, I became a holy man… by way of desperation.

I grew up in a moderate household, not quite privileged but never wanting for anything either. My parents were good people, faithful people who raised Harriet, my sister, and me in the church. As I aged, there were only two things I wanted to do: heal the wounded and serve my country. I joined the Army young and became a doctor. I was deployed in Afghanistan when my father died suddenly of a stroke. My mother went shortly after. Her death certificate said she died of congestive heart failure. If a broken heart had been considered an official cause of death, it would have said that instead. I didn’t even find out they had passed until I came home and long since their funerals had come and gone.

It was almost funny that I had lost them while I was at war, because I often felt they were with me in the trenches. The words they spoke each night at bedtime rang in my ears: “You have angels watching over you, John.” Sometimes it seemed they were right. Bullets whizzed by my head as I watched my friends fall. I often called myself ‘the helpless doctor,’ because there was no medical miracle that could reverse a bullet to the head. Most days, I thought I might fold my medical license into a priest’s collar, as I prayed with my friends as they died far more frequently than I actually saved them. Amidst it all though, I was remarkably lucky. There were times when I swore I could actually feel the soft flutter of wings shielding me from the bullets and shrapnel. “You have angels watching over you, John.” When I found out my parents had passed, I wondered if they were the angels guarding me.

Then, one day, a stray bullet must have slipped through the steel protection of my angels’ wings. It struck me in the left shoulder, and my medical training finally paid off. I saved myself, and I was sent packing… invalided from service and the only job I knew how to do. My sister and I barely spoke. She blamed me for missing our parents’ funerals, regardless of the fact I wasn’t given a choice. I wanted to be angry with her, but the alcoholism had transformed her into someone I didn’t even know anymore. It’s hard to be angry at a stranger. Anyway, being together as a family only served to remind us of everything we had lost. I heard she married a lovely woman named Clara, only to leave her a few years later. Alcohol is the cruel mistress who always seems to win.

I suppose it’s only fair to tell you I was worthless when I got home, too. Perhaps I wasn’t a drunk, but I sometimes think I was something much worse. Most casual bystanders would have called me shell-shocked, but that wasn’t quite true. I wasn’t haunted by the things I’d seen in the war, I’ve come to understand that I rather missed them. I lived for the action. What does a soldier do when he can no longer fight? Personal experience tells me he withdraws from the world until he can no longer survive without a steady income. Why does it always come down to money?

When I did eventually need work, I was blessed to still have my medical license. I got a job in the local surgery and… well… I existed. I kept myself bathed, clothed, and reasonably well fed. I didn’t seem to be saving many lives, but that was nothing new. At least I was watching less people die. Each night, when I returned to my flat, I limped up my stairs… What? Did I forget to mention the limp before? I always do that. My therapist called it psychosomatic. I liked to think of it as referred pain from my shoulder. Either way, it probably wasn’t strictly necessary, but I had it anyway. Where was I? Right… I limped up my stairs, ate dinner, had a bath, and changed into my pyjamas. Then, I would sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the service revolver in my bedside table drawer for several minutes, gauging whether that night would be the night I would be done with everything… living, breathing, and the whole lot of it. I suppose I never was.

Then, something extraordinary happened. I met a woman at work, a patient. Her name was Mary, and she was beautiful. Better yet, she seemed genuinely interested in me. She wasn’t a long-term patient, so there wasn’t so much as even an ethical debate standing in our way. When we started seeing one another, I stopped staring at my pistol each night. My limp started to clear up as well. Fine! Maybe it was psychosomatic. What of it?

The proposal went as you might expect, clumsy and full of “um’s” and “ah’s”… but she said yes anyway. Our wedding day was the best day of my life. She was breathtaking, and I couldn’t understand what I’d done right to deserve her by my side. I was living the dream… falling asleep each night and waking up each morning in the arms of an angel. I didn't think life could get any sweeter. Then, she placed my hand on her belly one day and told me she was pregnant. Once her words sank in, I remember dropping to my knees with my face near her tummy, kissing her soft skin, and telling our child how much I already loved him or her. Mary just laughed. “I’m only six weeks along, John. The baby isn’t anywhere near my belly button yet.” It didn’t matter to me, though. She was carrying my child.

The next time I fell to my knees was four weeks later in the waiting room of the EPAU. Mary woke up bleeding, so they said to bring her in for an emergency sonogram. The gorgeous little heart we’d seen beating just a week prior had stopped, and our world was shattered. I can’t place whether it was harder to feel so much potential slipping away or to see my amazing wife falling to bits and knowing I couldn’t help. Her face was red and streaked with tears, and she was sobbing so hard that she couldn’t take in a full breath. My heart broke watching her gasp for air, her eyes screwed so tightly shut she couldn’t even peek out enough to find my hand. I took hers, and she squeezed so hard I thought mine might break. It was worth it if it brought her a modicum of comfort.

“You can always try again,” the doctors said. I was a doctor, and I knew they were right. That didn’t make it any easier to hear, though. Once our hearts had healed enough, we did try again… and again… and again. We tried for well over a year before getting truly discouraged. It was nearing two years when we sought the help of a doctor. A few blood tests and a couple of very long weeks later, we were thrust into despair again. They said we’d never conceive, and we should consider the baby we lost something of a fluke. A fluke? It still angers me to this day.

It’s an interesting feeling to lose something you never had, be told you can’t have something you didn’t even use to know you wanted. Mary was so strong… right up until she wasn’t. I’d hear her crying at night when she thought I was asleep, asking God what she had done wrong. She would curl into a ball, clutching at the void she felt in her womb, and sobbed into her pillow as silently as she could, “I would have been good. I would have been such a good mummy.” I never knew if I should comfort her or not, because I was supposed to be asleep after all. It would reach a point where I had to do something though, so I would roll over and pull her close without a single word. Whether she knew I was awake or not didn’t matter, because my touch always seemed to calm her.

Eight months had passed since we were told we’d never be parents, and we had stopped speaking of it entirely. It seemed our lives were getting back to normal… until the day I found her sitting on the edge of our bed crying with her face buried in her hands. I gently took a seat next to her and rubbed her back. “Are you okay, darling?” She startled at my touch, but she nodded. “What’s wrong?” She extended her hand over my lap and opened her fist to reveal a plastic stick with two pink lines on it. My eyes went wide, and I gasped. “A-are you sure?” What a stupid question. She nodded again and flopped limply into my arms, her face tucked into the crook of my neck. I stroked her hair. “This is wonderful, Mary. It’s simply wonderful.” I barely made out what she whispered back through her tears, but it sounded something like, “What if I kill this one, too?” I promised her everything would be perfect and hoped like hell I hadn’t lied.

At twenty weeks, after we’d found out we were having a girl, she finally allowed me to start talking to our daughter through her tummy. Until that point, she’d insisted I ignore the entire situation. She didn’t want me getting attached until ‘it was safe.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d been attached since I’d seen the second line on that little plastic stick. Mary thought ‘Miracle’ would be too cliché, but she didn’t mind Mira. We decided that would be her name, and about five months later, it was. She was perfect… and lucky enough to resemble her mother more than me. She was the light of our lives, and I’d never been happier.

The next few years were filled with the most amazing firsts… first steps, first words, first time I’d really forgotten the war. We were settling in to our new lives as parents, and we loved every single second of it. Watching your child grow and learn and change is probably the single most rewarding experience in the entire universe. I often found myself asking how I got so lucky and when my luck would run out.

I wish I’d never gotten that answer. It was Mira’s fourth birthday, and we’d spent the day… well… _He stops to clear his throat, the corners of his eyes glistening with tears_. I think I’ll keep that part just for me, if you don’t mind. When we were on our way home at the end of the night, Mira was sitting in the backseat and alternating between licking her ice cream cone and nodding off. She’d had a long day… we all had. I chuckled as I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, ice cream dotting the end of her nose. When I looked back, there were headlights heading straight for us. With cars to both sides and me in my own lane, there was nothing I could do. I didn’t even have time to panic. The scream I heard welling up in Mary’s throat never escaped, the screech of the brakes taking its place. Shattering glass, crumpling metal, and then…

I blinked my eyes open from several meters away. Blood poured hot and thick from my temple as I stared up from the pavement. My hand lay in a sticky pool. I prayed it was motor oil, but I knew better. My vision was blurry, but I searched the nearby landscape for Mary and Mira. I couldn’t allow myself to believe they might still be in the twisted wreckage in the distance. As I clumsily scrambled to my feet, lumbering toward what was left of my car, I saw the sickening flicker of slow spreading flames. I saw just a glimpse of Mary’s face through the passenger window, her head dropped to the side and her eyes shut, before the smoke was kind enough to obscure me from the horrors to follow.

I ran toward the wreckage as best my legs would carry me, but I was tugged away by… I don’t know… someone in a uniform. My head was reeling, and it didn’t matter who he was. He stood between me and my entire world. I swung at his face and missed, spinning about 270 degrees. He caught me as I stumbled the other ninety and didn’t seem to judge me while I sobbed into his shoulder. “Save them.” I whimpered it over and over again through tears, and his kind voice promised there were people trying to do just that. They failed.

You never realize how many things in your home remind you of your family until your family is gone. I walked through the door, alone again, and Mary’s perfume filled my nostrils. A strained cry caught in my throat. The scarf she’d decided against wearing was draped over the sofa. I lightly fingered the transparent fabric before lifting it to my face and breathing her in. Photographs, memory, and olfactory traces were all that was left of my wife. I stumbled down the hallway and tripped over my broken heart as I reached Mira’s door. The princess crown scrawled with her name taunted me, mimicking the marker that would soon mark her grave. Bubblegum pink had never been so painful. I considered crossing the threshold and wallowing in the pain, but I couldn’t punish myself any more than I already was. I removed her nameplate, laid it just inside the door, and closed off the room.

When I reached our bedroom, Mary was in everything. There was nothing there she hadn’t touched. I fell into the bed where we’d conceived our daughter, our miracle, and found her favourite stuffed bunny. Goddammit, she’d forgotten him at home. She’d died without her bunny. She’d died… I dissolved into tears yet again. My family was dead, and I was the useless doctor who couldn’t even hold their hands while they went. When was the last time I told them I loved them? The last time I told them… The last time… Whether I fell asleep or passed out didn’t seem to matter. I woke up alone to an empty house, and I had never stared so longingly at my service revolver. I thought of how angry Mary would be to see me following so closely behind her in the afterlife and slid the drawer closed. Besides, I had a funeral to plan… never mind the unending search for where I’d left my will to live.

I don’t actually remember their funeral, but I do know the smell of flowers still makes me wretch. Tears well up in my eyes and bile rises in my throat every time I get within a stone’s throw of a rose. I could have coined the phrase ‘sickeningly sweet’ myself.

The metal was cool against my hand as I cocked the hammer of my weapon and ached for death. Though heavy in my palm, the gun promised to be lighter against my temple… and it was. I leaned into the barrel, my finger just millimeters from the trigger. As I pondered again what had ever convinced me to choose faith over the bullet, that inky black feather floated from the rafters and landed on my robe. When I turned my gaze skyward, what I saw was impossible.


	2. A Cold and Broken Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used an additional piece of artwork as inspiration on this chapter, but it's a WIP that isn't yet posted. I'll update with a link when cinnibunny is ready to show its beauty to the world! <3
> 
> *UPDATE* Oh, god!!! Ree finally posted the finished Winglock that inspired this chapter! You can find it here: http://cinnibunny.tumblr.com/post/37434885718/winglock-d-ill-never-be-lazy-again-i-promise

In the rafters, I saw a flash of pale skin and the gentle shimmer of black feathers, much like the one I still held in my palm. The nave was dimly lit, and my eyes strained to follow the shadowy figure, which gracefully perched itself on a podium in the apse. Naught but a shroud of dark plumage as I approached, the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen came into view as it unfurled its wings.

Slender, pallid, and stark naked, it… no… _he_ crouched upon the lectern. His hair was nearly as dark as his feathers, but his eyes were clear and bright and seemed to encapsulate the whole of the cosmos. I slipped my weapon into the belt of my robe and fell to my knees, dropping my stare away from his discomfiting beauty.

Long, timid fingers made their way to my chin and tilted my head back so our gazes might again meet. As a holy man, it wasn’t until an angel held my face in the palm of his hand that I realized how much I truly doubted everything I was meant to believe. I even doubted the vision before me. “Wh-what are you?”

When he looked at me, my immense awe of him seemed only to rival his of me. His voice came back, barely a whisper, with nothing akin to an answer. “My John.”

I shuddered. _John?_ How did he know my name? _His?_ Why was I so desperate for that to be true? “What are you?” I asked again.

He clambered toward me with impossible grace, the soles of his feet absolutely silent as they made contact with the floor. Even when I stood tall, he towered over me by several inches. He cupped my cheeks in his gentle hands and stared for several seconds before finally answering. “Yours.”

His voice floated in through my aural canal and slithered around inside my skull. No other syllable had ever sounded so equally lewd, unsettling, and still unabashedly soothing before, nor would anything thereafter. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been with you forever.” His tone was deeper and more velvety than before, as if he was only just finding his voice for the first time.

My knees weakened. There was no part of me which doubted him, no part of me which wished to doubt him. “I don’t understand.” It was mostly true, though I was certain I already understood more than I was willing to admit.

“Can we go somewhere? I can’t risk…”

I was already leading him toward my quarters. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him even then, and I wasn’t nearly as bothered by it as I felt I ought to have been. The ludicrous hours I kept made it easy for us to pass the halls unseen by prying eyes. Once inside, I shut the door. “Explain yourself,” I insisted, laying my pistol on the nightstand, and steeled myself for the story I would never be prepared to hear.

“I’ve been with you forever,” he repeated. His demeanor was calm, his voice steady and smooth. “I’ve been the one watching over you since the very beginning. I’ve provided you with protection, love, and adoration, and in turn, you’ve compromised me.”

“Protected me?” Perhaps I was too cynical. “Have you looked at my life recently?”

“Keep your voice down, John. All will be explained.”

I crossed the room to my bed and took a seat, staring, waiting silently.

He sat next to me, his wings folded neatly at his back. “You have questions. Where would you like me to start?”

“My parents… You took—”

“You’re already mistaken.” He cut me off. “Let me start by saying your sister and parents were not my wards. I’ve had nothing to do with their lives beyond my connection to you. Your father’s death was inevitable… It was his path from the beginning. Your mother, on the other hand, was meant to live on for many more years. I know her ward, and her death was one of mercy.”

“Mercy?” Anger swelled in my chest at his words. Who were they to decide when a death was merciful?

“Yes, mercy.” He gingerly draped one leg over the other. “After your father passed, she eyed his service revolver much the way you’ve eyed your own… only with intent. She was more desperate to go than you’ve ever been. She begged for death to take her so didn’t have to do it herself. We simply complied.”

The vision of my mother staring longingly at a pistol and feeling the ache for release in her heart the way I had came like a sucker punch. I closed my eyes and nodded, knowing full well he spoke absolute truth and accepting it. “Fine. The war.” I pulled back my robe to expose the angry, red scar on my shoulder. “Where were you then?”

He reached out and touched it, the pads of his fingers on the tender flesh sending a chill down my spine. “I was holding you.”

“After it had struck me? Did you ever think to stop it before?”

He smiled a sad smile and withdrew his hand. “I was already with you when you were hit. I allowed it.”

“You what?” I was on the verge of rage.

“It was a defining moment in our relationship, John. That was the first time I risked my light for you.”

“You risked your life to allow me to be shot?”

“Light,” he repeated, placing strong emphasis on the hard T. “You weren’t meant to get shot that day. I chose to let it happen. Just a tenuous part in my feathers, it was only large enough for a bullet to pass through and nearly slight enough to be mistaken for an accident. Yet, I fooled no one.”

I wanted to ask why but couldn’t form the word on my lips.

“You weren’t meant to get shot _that day_.” He was clearly trying to answer the question I was unable to ask. “Three days later…” He paused, visibly upset. “You would have been distracted trying to save a man who was fated to die when a round of friendly fire caught you in your right temple. Your death would have been almost instantaneous. You were coming home that week regardless; at least I sent you home with a beating heart. I was nearly cast out for it.”

It was hard to hear. I always knew I was moments from death at any given time on the battlefield, but to know it was fated to happen? To try and comprehend that the scar, which had been the bane of my existence since the day I received it, had saved my life was next to impossible. His voice had dampened my anger, and I didn’t argue. “Mary?” I barely eked out the name of my wife. “Mir—” I failed to speak my daughter’s. That familiar ache had returned to my chest and hot tears stung at my eyes.

He brushed the pad of his thumb through the saltwater trail on my cheek. “They weren’t mine. I couldn’t touch them; Heaven knows I tried. I carried you from the flames and held you… even after you swung at me.”

My eyes narrowed, memories flooding back. “No, you couldn’t—”

“I was.” He placed his palm against my forehead and showed me what the trauma had blocked from me.

In my mind’s eye, I was thrust back into the fateful moment. As my fist narrowly missed my saviour’s face, I could clearly see it was him. Clad in a police uniform, he wrapped me in his arms and comforted me while I cried. “W-wings?” I nodded to the appendages that seemed to be missing from my memory.

He shrugged. “Trick of the trade. I wasn’t supposed to do that either, if it matters.”

“Why _them_? Why my family?”

“Executive order,” he said matter-of-factly.

I shook my head. I couldn’t formulate a sentence with enough pain and anger to express how deeply his words had affected me.

“The doctors were right, John. Mira should never have existed… could never exist. The soul of a child forged from you and Mary would be too strong, too pure, and too pliable for this world. She would never have been safe from the clutches of evil. She had infinite power within her, infinite power with infinite potential for corruption. It didn’t stop me from trying to save her, though.”

“I don’t understand… Then how—”

“We still don’t know, but I do now realize your intended death on the battlefield was meant to prevent the entire ordeal.” He looked away. “The child you lost sent a shock wave through the Heavens. Mira’s conception and birth caused an outright coup. You only got as long as you did with her because there was no clear path on how to… remedy the situation. If your desire for a child had been strong enough to defeat the odds against you twice, it would have been unstoppable after the loss of Mira. We had to take Mary as well, to ensure the scenario could never be repeated.”

“But they were my life. It’s not okay,” I sputtered. “Why couldn’t you have just let me die with them?”

“You had… you _have_ more work to do.”

“I was meant to be dead already. You said it yourself.”

“It’s not that easy, John.” He sighed. “If birth is point A and death is point B, there is a path laid out from the moment you take your first breath which leads to how and when and why you take your last. Once the path is altered, as yours was when I allowed that bullet to hit you, it is altered forever. The new path is no less rigid than the former one.”  
“You’d altered it once… You could have—”

He shook his head. “I told you, I’m compromised. I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

I was angry for so many reasons and for no reason at all. “Then why are you?” I couldn’t even process the information anymore. It was all too much.

“Because you were obviously thinking about it again—” He looked toward the weapon lying on my nightstand. “—and your intent was disconcerting. I needed to be here to stop you, in case you tried to go through with it.”

“And what if I had? Why can’t you just let me die? Or allow me the same mercy you allowed my mother?” I was all but shouting.

“Humans, you’re always seeing but never observing.” He stopped, frustrated, and pinched the bridge of his nose. I found it mildly amusing, because it felt like he’d picked up the habit from watching me for too many years.

While I was busy being distracted with thoughts of an angel adopting my mannerisms, I suddenly found his lips pressed against mine. I hadn’t expected it, hadn’t realized at all what he was trying to tell me. There were sparks running between us where our mouths were joined, and I’m not being cliché. There were literal sparks, tiny little jolts of electricity glowing from within our kiss. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the feeling, but I hadn’t really felt anything except heartache in ages.

I threaded my fingers into his obsidian locks and pulled him in deeper. I didn’t know what had come over me, even if I understand it a bit more now. The truth was I didn’t care what had come over me… I only cared to feel him, touch him, be as close to him as possible.

When we pulled out of the kiss, I ached for more. The longing was interminable. I couldn’t understand why my vow of chastity was only being tested for the first time… and with him.

“We’re connected, John. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.” He almost had to be reading my thoughts.

“Why? How?”

“It’s complicated, but please try and follow along.” He was a condescending git, but I’ve come to realize he was oblivious to it. “When two souls are too perfectly matched, they are disallowed from inhabiting the same plane of existence. One becomes human, and one becomes his or her angelic guardian. This is true of our souls, and we’re never allowed to make such contact because of it.”

“But you’re here now…”

“We are vowed to remain separate from our wards, except in times of extenuating circumstance. Some angels, however, rebel.”

“Rebel how?”

“The way I have today. The way I did when I kissed you.” His expression was something akin to embarrassment or even a hint of shame. “I’ve risked my light for you many times, and now I wish to relinquish it for you. It’s not easy though, nor will it be pleasant. I would—”

“Wait.” I put my hand up to stop him. “Why? Why would you want to do that?”

“Perhaps others are more patient than I, more tolerant. I can only look at something so precious behind glass for so long. My heart, though fragile, demands more. I can’t just love you from afar. I’d rather risk being broken than live another moment apart from you. But I’ll need your help to do this.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t be able to consider this clearly while I’m near you.” He stood and walked to the far wall of my room. He placed his palm on one of the cinderblocks and I watched it glow out of existence. He pulled out a box and retrieved several articles of clothing from it, dressing quietly. “Another trick of the trade. I’ll step out and allow you time to process my request. Do what you need to do. You have one hour.”

I watched him step through the small door which led to my balcony and climb on to the wrought iron railing. He stood quietly, looking down several stories into the courtyard below. His long black coat billowed in the night breeze. The deep violet of his shirt clung to his chest, buttons straining slightly, and black trousers clad his strong but slender legs. I could still see his wings, but he assured me no one else could. He insisted no one would notice him any more than I had the night he held me in the street while I wept for my family.

I shut the door behind him and stared aimlessly for several seconds. When I got my senses back about me, I crossed to the nightstand and slipped the pistol inside. Before closing the drawer, I palmed the grip of my cat o’ nine tails and took it to the bed with me. It had been well over a year since I’d been tempted to break any of my vows enough to flagellate myself. Arguably, I’d have done it for putting the barrel of a gun, which was absolutely not supposed to own, to my head anyway… if I hadn’t pulled the trigger, that is.  
I sat on the edge of my bed and shrugged off the upper half of my robe. My dog tags, one of the few personal items I had been allowed to keep, clinked against my chest. It felt like an eternity before I worked up the nerve to strike myself for the first time.

_CRACK!_

The pain was like no other I’d ever felt. My nerve endings were still aflame from my brief contact with… I didn’t even know his name, didn’t even know if he had a name.

_CRACK!_

The sting sent shockwaves through my body. At least my arousal was waning, though.

_CRACK!_

Hot rivers of blood had already begun to trickle down my back. Still, my thoughts were of his face, his form, the sensation of his lips against my own. I felt myself beginning to stiffen again through the pain.

_CRACK!_

Why was I trying to stay faithful to my vows anyway? I lent very little credence to all I’d sworn to believe anyway.

_CRACK!_

The agony along my spine and ribs was intense; my brain was already beginning to block it out. Endorphins were starting to kick in, and I looked down to see I was unconsciously massaging myself through my robe.

_CRACK!_

It was the last lash I’d inflict. I didn’t need an hour. I tossed the whip onto the bed, the knotted rope ends dotting the linens with blood. When I opened the door to the balcony, he was already waiting. I didn’t wait for the door to close before pulling him into another hard kiss. Our tongues thrashed together, and more powerful jolts of electricity surged between us. When we separated, I had only one question: “What do we have to do?”

The instructions which followed were nothing short of dire. “In a holy place, such as this one, my wings must be severed, and I then must relent to the temptations of the flesh. Doing only one or the other will result in nothing more than the continued threat of me being forcibly cast out of Heaven, and that process is far more gruesome than anything I’ve just described.”

I nodded slowly. It sounded awful, but I wanted him badly enough to overlook it.

He crossed the room to the box again and pulled out a ceremonial dagger. “This is the only blade capable of removing an angel’s wings. We each have one… freewill and whatnot.” He held it out toward me.

I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t—”

“You said you were willing to help me release my light so we might spend our mortal lives in one another’s embrace. You must prove your commitment by excising my wings. I cannot enter into this without knowing you’re fully committed.”

I reached for the knife, still unsure if I could do what he requested. “Will it hurt?”

“Eventually, but I’m not sure how quickly. We feel no pain or hunger… none of the plagues of humanity. They start to slowly seep in as we fall, though.”

“Fall?” I didn’t quite understand how the term applied.

“Falling from grace… I’ll become human. You should know, if we complete this process, you’ll be without a guardian.” His face was wrought with concern. It was clear he feared his admission would quell my willingness to help.

“And you’ll be by my side, protecting me as a mortal, will you not?”

He smiled shyly. “Always, John.”

“Seems a fair trade then. How do I do this?”

“You’re a doctor…” He seemed to believe that would somehow make it easier for me.

“Not exactly a routine procedure.” I chuckled. I’m still not sure how I could find humour in the face of my next task, but I did. Nervous laughter, perhaps. Mary hated how I laughed at the most inappropriate times… It was no time to think of Mary, though.

“John.” His voice pulled me from the disastrous train of thought derailing in my mind. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lost in my own memories until I saw he had already disrobed and was kneeling on the floor.

I took a position in front of him and let my fingertips glide over the brilliant, black feathers I was meant to desecrate. I took a knee to look him in the eye, my thumb gently tracing the hard line of his sharp cheekbone. “I don’t even know your name.” I was half talking to myself and sounded like I was in a daze.

“Sherlock.”

Just hearing a voiced response startled me. “Sherlock,” I repeated him quietly. It was a strange name. “Are you sure about this? You’ll be giving up Heaven, immortality, and everything you’ve ever known… and for what?”

“For you… _my_ John.” His tone was sweet and possessive and chilled me to my core. “I’ve seen more places than you can imagine, beauty and pain beyond your wildest dreams. Still, I never understood the idea of ‘home’ until I looked at you and felt you look back, held you in my arms, and kissed your lips. Heaven is nothing compared to your touch.”

I kissed the corner of his mouth once more before standing and moving behind him. I grasped near the base of his right wing and gingerly placed the blade against it. My hand was trembling. With only slight pressure, it began to sink in. This was its only function, its only purpose. He didn’t react, and I was thankful for it.

The further in it sliced, the more force I was required to exert on the blade. It was starting to affect him, the musculature of his back beginning to tighten. Much too soon, I saw the first sign of blood. I was barely halfway through. I pressed on. Doctor mode kicked in, and I started to make long, sweeping cuts to speed the process along whilst minimizing his pain. He remained almost completely motionless as the mass of soiled feathers fell to the floor.

It hadn’t been so bad. “You okay?” I asked. He nodded, and I was confident when I moved to the other wing. It would be trickier. I was left-handed, and my wrists would have to crisscross in order for me to get a proper grip. As soon as the bloodied blade touched the second wing, he winced. I tried to ignore it. With my first slice, his spine contorted as he pulled away from me. He fell on to all fours and whimpered. I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s fine. Keep going,” he panted.

“You’re in pain.” I had a talent for stating the obvious.

“It’s just a means of deterring us from such behavior. I can take it.”

“What happens if I stop?”

He glared up at me from the floor. “It would grow back, and I would be punished.”

“Cast out?”

“Doubtful. Why?”

“I’m stopping... I can’t do this.”

He spun on his knees and sat back on his heels in front of me. His hands rested in the pool of fabric above my belt, the upper portion of my robe still draping down over top of it. “Please? This is all I want.” He placed tender, open-mouthed kisses along the line of my belt, just below my navel. “I want a life of this… a life with you.”

I shivered. How could I tell him no? I nodded, and he turned back around. I tried to keep sight of the end result as I took hold of his remaining wing once again. I resumed cutting, blood now running freely down his spine. He writhed in agony, his muscles absolutely crawling under his skin. He fell forward again, still panting, but he nodded for me to continue. I could hear him gasping for breaths. I paused. “Sherlo—”

“Don’t stop.” He looked back at me with desperation in his eyes and tears staining his face. “Excising my wings… the first step… in extracting my light. I need you… to do this. Be strong, John. For me… for the times I’ve risked myself for you… do this for me.” His breath was ragged, his words coming out in starts and stops.

I moved around and bent to face him, lifting his jaw into a gentle kiss. I nodded questioningly, and he reciprocated. Before I continued, I made my way to the bed and retrieved my whip. I extended the grip toward his face, but he didn’t seem to understand. “Bite down,” I instructed. He still looked perplexed, but he did as I asked. “Clench your teeth around it when the pain gets bad.” He nodded again.

When I started to cut again, he began to tremble. I could hear strained cries welling up and dying in his throat as he sobbed against the leather wrapped grip between his teeth. His arms wobbled beneath his weight, threatening to give out, and he slumped to his elbows with his forehead pressed against the floor. There was blood dripping down the contour of his ribcage and pooling around him. I had to crouch to continue. I desperately wanted to stop, but I was almost done. His wing hung limply off the ensanguined stump of hollow bone. Only small bits of sinew and tissue remained, and I was loath to finish what I’d started. All the beauty that had once graced his scapulae had become a mess of gore and agony. It finally fell.

He collapsed to the floor in front of me, shaking and sweating. I was careful when I scooped him up in my arms and carried him to the bed. I set him down and took a seat next to him, holding him until his body stilled. I thought he might have actually passed out until I felt him lightly fingering the silver ball chain around my neck. He kissed slowly along the line of my carotid artery, which I was certain was pulsing hard against his lips. My mind and body were at odds, one telling me he was far too weak and the other begging me not to stop him. ‘First do no harm’ echoed in my head. “Sherlock… wait… you’re injured…”

“I have to complete the process or it was all for naught. I’ve been waiting decades for this, John. Please. I need to be with you.” Desperation dripped from his voice.  
He straddled my thighs, sitting in my still robed lap, and draped his arms around my neck. When our lips met, the jolts radiating between us had already weakened. His power was draining away, and I could see in his eyes that the reality of it was more upsetting than he’d imagined it would be. “We don’t have to,” I whispered against the kiss.  
He rolled his hips against me and bit at my bottom lip. “Please.” He sounded even more wanton than before.

I rested my forehead on his and nodded. “Wh-what do you want me to do?”

“I…” He was nervously fidgeting with my dog tags, avoiding eye contact. It was endearing. “I think you’ll have to… I mean…” He glanced down toward his lap. “I don’t think I can… not yet… not until I’m more human.”

I followed his line of sight to see he was still half-flaccid. His ability to feel pleasure and pain was obviously still dampened, which made his agony before even more gut-wrenching. “No, it’s fine. It’s all fine.”

He was still fixated on my dog tags when I unclipped the chain from around my neck and re-clipped it on his. He grinned, and my heart melted. “I don’t think I can lie on my back.” He wriggled his shoulders a bit and sucked in a harsh breath.

I agreed and tapped his thigh. When he was safely seated back on the bed, I stood while he un-belted my robe, letting it fall to the ground. He stared. Even though my blood flow was resolutely focused in my brain rather than my groin, visions of the pain I’d just inflicted haunting me, he was obviously fascinated. It was then I realized he’d never done any of this before. However strange and awkward the situation was for me, however terrifying and momentous it was in my life, it didn’t compare to him being utterly lost.  
Defecting from my faith was nothing compared to falling from grace. He was injured, feeling both pain and pleasure for the first time in his life, and giving up all of Heaven and eternity for me. I had to guide him through it; I owed it to him. But first, I had to stop the traumatic images swirling in my mind.

I was abruptly tugged back to reality by my hips. My search for the source of the sensation ended with wide, innocent eyes peering up at me. It seemed they were asking permission, and I didn’t hesitate a single moment before granting it. His immediate curiosity was remarkable. After spending decades staring at the big red button marked with a ‘Do Not Touch’ sign, it finally beckoned him with a more inviting ‘Try Me.’ He wasted no time.

His fingertips brushed across my arms, chest, and shoulders. His hands snaked around to my back, his fingernails lightly raking along my ribcage, and he pulled me closer. He nestled his cheek against my abdomen, and I squirmed when his curls tickled at my sternum. When his tongue started to trace the contours of my abs, his fingertips digging into my arse cheeks, my cock twitched upon its own volition. He pulled back and looked at it for several seconds before nuzzling into the patch of blonde hair around it. He encircled it with his hand. His fingers glided toward the base, allowing my glans to slip out from the foreskin and peek through the open end of his fist. Then his mouth was on it, his tongue swirling the smooth, sensitive skin and the exploring the slit.

He looked up at me, hopeful. I nodded my praise, and his eyes danced. I weaved my fingers into his raven locks and allowed my head to fall back. He took more of me in, and I felt myself stiffening against his lips and tongue. It was then I realized my growing erection brought me far more guilt than the one I had lacked only moments before. What kind of monster could be aroused after the ordeal we’d just suffered? But Sherlock… This beautiful, chaste creature had his lips wrapped ‘round my cock and wanted nothing more than to bring me pleasure and stand by my side as a mortal, an equal. He pulled his mouth off with a pop and examined its new, almost completely erect state. He grinned up at me as his hand gently stroked the length of it a few more times.

I took a seat next to him on the bed and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss. My tongue filled the hollow of his mouth, and I could taste a hint of myself on his tongue. When my hand settled high on his upper thigh, he flinched. “May I?” I breathed softly against his jaw. A timid nod came as my response.

Given the gravity of the pain he had just suffered and his dampened ability to feel pleasure at all, it was a miracle he had achieved even a partial erection. In the face of so much negativity, his body still cried out for sexual gratification. I gave him a long, measured stroke and felt him gasp, hot breath blanketing my cheek. His propensity to feel physical touch was already increasing. When I dropped to my knees on the floor and positioned myself between his thighs, he quirked his eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. I needed him to feel what he’d inadvertently bestowed upon me. I traced the underside of his shaft with my tongue before taking him into my mouth and sucking gently. My lips slid up and down his virgin prick, and he grasped my hair hard in his fists. Whatever slack had remained in my own erection was no more, and I was happy to see his was lessening.

I eventually joined him on the bed once again and waited, wondering what I should do next. “Do you want—”

“Can we?” he replied eagerly.

“Oh, god, yes.” I positioned myself in the center of the mattress, recoiling when the deep gashes on my back came in contact with the rough sheets. When I settled in, I motioned for him to join me.

He straddled my waist, and his cock lay prone against my abdomen. He was already rocking his hips in anticipation.

“I… I don’t have any condoms or lube.” The realization hit me hard. I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought until that moment.

“I’d know before you did if you were infected with anything, John. I assure you, you aren’t. And, unless you expect it will hurt more than…” He looked toward the carnage still strewn on the floor as his words trailed off.

“No! God, Jesus, fuck… no. It won’t. I promise.”

“Then, I’ll happily brave it. My body is still significantly more pliable and my pain tolerance still much higher than most humans.” I had never heard someone speak so astutely or succinctly in a sexual situation before.

He reached back and stroked my cock a few more times, slicking it with the abundance of pre-cum I had rather conveniently provided, and lined himself up. I was surprised by his sudden lack of confusion until it dawned on me that this had been the part he studied, the part he’d sought to learn. Foreplay was a foreign concept, strictly for pleasure and completely inconsequential to his fall. Penetration and orgasm were his only real concerns. 

He pressed back against my erection, and his body seemed to welcome me without protest. My ingression was slow and steady as he enveloped me completely. He was wrapped hot and tight around cock, and I’d never felt anything like him. His hips rolled against my groin, grinding down hard on my prick and sending shockwaves of white hot energy surging through my body.

The only thing more intense than the unadulterated pleasure I received from being inside of Sherlock was his gaze. He studied my every movement, scrutinizing each crinkle of my brow and twitch of my nose. He had spent so many years invisibly at my side that he could already decipher the meaning behind each miniscule reaction and adjust himself accordingly. 

I planted my hands firmly on his hips to get his attention and shook my head. “No. Look at me.”

“I am,” he replied curtly.

I sighed. “My eyes, Sherlock.”

He looked genuinely confused by the request. To some extent, it was still all mechanics to him. Mechanics weren’t going to provide the experience I wanted to give him, though. He dropped forward onto his palms and locked his gaze with my own. I also adjusted, tilting his hips just right before bucking into him harder. His mouth fell open, a wanton moan catching in his throat. The motion as my hand moved from his hip to his cock caught his eye, but I urged him not to look away. I was happy to see him so quick to oblige.  
I wrapped my fingers around him, allowing him to easily slip in and out of my hand as I snapped my hips under him. His sensitivity had increased, but I still had to grip tighter than would have been strictly necessary with nearly any other man.

He was finally hard and hot in my fist. “I… mm… just… nng… need… hm… release… pleeeeease.” The words trickled from his mouth in a desperate whimper, the sound of it so lewd that I almost came right then and there.

I flexed my fist around his cock, my strokes coming harder and faster. He fought to keep his eyelids from falling shut, and his focus was intensely centered on me, his eyes piercing through to my soul. My knees were bent behind him, my hips beginning to jerk more erratically into him.

He lurched forward with every thrust, the sweat from his hair peppering my forehead. “More… please…” He was shamelessly begging, his resolve falling away right in front of my eyes. His right hand moved from the mattress up to his chest to clutch my dog tags, like the secular rosary of the human he’d grown to worship. What had I done so right to be that man? To deserve him? 

“Cum for me.” Perhaps it was selfish, but I couldn’t wait to see him lose himself.

He sank back harder, sitting up with the small of his back pressed against my thighs. The fingernails of his free hand dug into my flesh near where my leg and arse joined. He rode the waves, his body rolling gracefully, writhing on top of me, and fighting for the first orgasm of his life.

I think I wanted to give it to him even more than he wished to receive it. “Fall for me.” My voice was a low growl I almost didn’t recognize as my own. His cock was already pulsing against my fingers, and I knew it was happening before he did. One more swift stroke and he was undone.

With his head hanging back and his mouth agape, arcs of brilliant, blue lightning shot from his scapulae, mimicking the shape of the wings he’d lost. Light spilled from his open mouth in a cold and broken hallelujah, and I could feel an indescribable suction around my prick as his grace was forcibly ripped from his body. I pumped him through his climax, his semen giving off the same bluish glow where it dappled my chest and stomach. My free hand smoothed up and down over the soft skin of his torso, small sparks tickling at my fingers and palm until he collapsed against me, drained. “Did you—” he panted against my scar.

I shook my head, struggling to free my hands from where they were crushed between our bodies. “No, not yet.”

“Do it. Please?” I nodded and cinched my arm around his waist, curving his spine so only a thin layer of sweat and ejaculate existed between us. My other hand gripped his arse tightly, and I pounded into him, lifting both him and my hips several inches off the bed. It wouldn’t take long. I rocked into him repeatedly while he whispered my name filthily into my ear, “Oh, god, John… my John… oh, god… please, John… pleeeease.”

There was a pleasant twisting in my stomach when he spoke, and what little control I was still exerting on my body left me. My back arched at an impossible angle, and my vision blurred into bright white as I erupted deep inside of him. I buried my fingertips into his hips and pressed him down onto my cock as hard as I could as it twitched and sputtered inside of him. A few final, harsh thrusts ended it.

He slid off of me and curled into my side, his head on my shoulder. The sticky mess between us had faded to a normal, milky white, and the stumps of mutilated wing were missing from his back. I glanced across my room to see all traces of his immortality had vanished… the box he’d pulled from my wall, the crimson stained dagger, even the mass of soiled feathers which had been soaking in a pool of blood. Only my whip lay in the middle of the room to serve as a reminder of what had transpired.

I kissed his forehead and ruffled his sweat-soaked curls. “What’s it feel like?”

“Relieved.” He stopped to think. “Empty.”

 _Empty_. It knocked the wind from my lungs. “D-do you regret it?”

He drew back, startled. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”

“Oh, you just… you said ‘empty’ and—”

“No.” He shook his head, languidly pointing to his stomach. “Hungry?”

“You’ve never had to eat before, have you?” I chuckled. His sheepish expression answered my question. “Will you survive until morning?”

“Will you hold me until then?”

I pulled him closer, smirking. “I’ll like to see you try to stop me.”

“Then, I think I’d prefer to wait.” He nuzzled into the crook of my neck. I had just closed my eyes when I heard his voice come back, soft and low. “Thank you for never pulling the trigger, John.”

“Thanks for sending me home with a beating heart.” I nestled my chin into his hair.

“I love your heart.” He drew light circles over my left breast until we both fell asleep, him for the very first time.

When we awoke on the first morning of his mortal life, made my intentions to defect from the church known. There was a brief argument on their part until I regaled them with what I’d done the night before, save for the bit about him being a fallen angel. They didn’t seem too keen on keeping me after that. Then, I took him for his first real meal, and we started plotting out our new life together. We couldn’t be certain what would be next for us, but the future wasn’t as important as our present. It would take some getting used to, but I’d adapted before… at least this time was for the better.


	3. One Tiny Thing Out of Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for there to be porn in this chapter, but... even if it's poorly timed, terribly inappropriate, and utterly unplanned... If John and Sherlock want to fuck, you say yes! Plus, Susan (suprise329) said to include ALL THE PORN... So, there you have it!
> 
> Inspiration for this chapter is 'One Tiny Thing' by 8in8: http://youtu.be/LcfHKiC9CPU

It had been three years since Sherlock’s fall, and we’d settled into domesticity quite nicely. We lived in a little flat, and I was working in the surgery at Saint Bart’s. Sometimes I felt like a traitor or an adulterer, leaving Saint Francis for Saint Bartholomew. Sherlock’s work was somewhat trickier. His fall from grace hadn’t come with much in the way of official paperwork, so he was a bit of a ghost. He’d still managed to fashion himself a position in the world, though. At first on accident, stumbling across a crime scene and being the most brilliantly observant man this side of Heaven, he was able to fill in all the blanks for a very frustrated Detective Inspector. They feared he was selling himself as a psychic, but he assured them he was merely more intelligent than they were and made himself just useful enough for them to keep him around. ‘Consulting Detective’… That’s what he was calling himself. It was a bit pretentious, but so was walking the earth as fallen angel. I’d come to love a bit of pretentious.

My head was buried in the refrigerator, looking in vain for something I should have known I wouldn’t find. “Sherlock? Did you remember the milk?”

“Mm… yes,” he replied from the parlour.

“Where is it?”

“I didn’t buy any.”

“Excuse me?” I peeked my head around the wall to look at him.

“Yeah, I decided against it.” He didn’t look up from the newspaper.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “May I ask why?”

“Milk is boring.”

“Yes, love… but you do recall we have to eat, right? After three years, I’d think you’d have gotten used to eating.”

“Humans drinking the breast milk of a cow, milk meant only to sustain baby cows—”

“They’re called calves.”

“It’s boring and illogical.” He wasn’t even listening to me. “That’s not a combination I’ve seen very often.”

“What would you suggest we put on cereal instead?” I wasn’t sure why I was even talking.

“Actually, boring and illogical is almost enough to make it interesting.” He clearly hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “Perhaps it has merit after all. I think I’ll start buying the milk from now on.” The puerile grin on his face made all the annoyance melt from my body.

“Oh, good… That’s settled then.” I chuckled to myself as I walked back to the kitchen. Sometimes it was hard to admit how much I loved Sherlock, how much I loved my life.

“Would you like me to start buying it now?” he called, a certain giddiness in his voice.

“Sure, if you like.”

“Anything else you want me to pick up?”

I made my way back to the parlour and stared at him curiously.

“What?” He was obviously perplexed by my behaviour, and I loved it.

“Who are you? And, what have you done with my Sherlock?”

“What?” He spun in a small circle, looking himself up and down as best he could. “Why?”

I stopped him with one palm on either side of his face, my thumbs tracing the contour of his cheekbones, and gently kissed his lips. “I was joking, love. You’ll get the hang of sarcasm eventually, even if it kills me.”

He pulled me closer and kissed me again, deeper and more properly. “I’d never let anything kill you, John.”

I sighed, partially out of frustration but mostly out of delirious bliss that he was mine. The amount of love I felt for him was almost sickening at times. “Go… hurry… before I drag you off to the bedroom.”

He stopped to ponder the idea. “Perhaps I don’t want to buy milk anymore.”

“Go buy milk.” I playfully slapped his arse. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door as I went in search of a breakfast I could make without milk. Toast and coffee would have to do. I heard the front door open, but I hadn’t yet heard it close. It wouldn’t have been terribly surprising if he’d just forgotten again, though… Yes, again.

“John!” he yelled from somewhere near the doorway. “Your phone is making a noise. It says ‘Harry’ on it. Who’s Harry, John?”

I sprinted toward the phone, as it was obvious he had decided not to answer it. “My sister, Harry is my sister.” I held my hand out, hoping he might give me the device before she hung up.

He placed it in my hand, but didn’t shut up. “But your sister is named Harriet. Why would you call her Harry? Harry is a man’s name, John. Or does she have an issue with hirsutism? I haven’t met her. If so, that’s rather rude, not to mention misspelled.”

I was already on my way to the bedroom so I might hear over his inane rant. No matter how much I enjoyed them on occasion, Harry rarely called me. Since it wasn’t Christmas or my birthday, never would have been more accurate than rarely.

“Harry? Hi. What’s wrong?” It wasn’t your average greeting, but we weren’t your average siblings.

“Nothing, I…” She trailed off, and I worried more.

“What is it? You’re worrying me.” It was true. Harry never brought good news with her. Sherlock had appeared in the doorway, but he remained quiet at the behest of my finger against my lips to shush him.

“Can I come over?” My eyes went wide at her request, and Sherlock came nearer to try and hear through the phone.

“I… er… yeah, I suppose so.” I hadn’t seen my sister in years, not since Mary and Mira’s funeral. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

“Yeah, I just want you to meet someone.” She paused, and I could hear the feigned rustling of papers. Perhaps I’d spent too much time around Sherlock. “Hmm… I don’t seem to have your address handy.”

“She’s lying,” he whispered from beside me.

I rolled my eyes. “We all misplace things from time to time. Life is hectic.” She never had my address. “I’m at 221B Baker Street. Just buzz when you get here.”

“Yeah, ‘kay…”

“See you soon then.” I started to hang up.

“Hey! John!” she called out, her voice only barely loud enough I knew to put the phone back to my ear.

“Hm?”

“Thanks.” She hung up before I could reply.

I set my phone on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. My face was resting against my palms when I felt the mattress sink behind me. I sighed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice. He hated not being able to sense my thoughts like he used to.

“There was something in her tone.” I couldn’t place it, so I didn’t try to explain.

His hands were on my shoulders, kneading them in the way he knew would make me start to forget about the call… about everything. I rolled my neck in response. The new feeling was alarmingly superior to the worry in my head.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” he whispered against my ear.

My head fell back against his shoulder. “How can you be sure?”

He kissed a line from behind my ear down to my collar before tugging it aside and nuzzling his nose against the crook of my neck. “Don’t you trust me?” His hands slipped down my shoulder blades and around to my chest. 

I groaned. “Weren’t you going to buy milk?” I’m not too ashamed to admit I hoped he said no.

He hands stilled against me. “Would you rather I do that?”

I knew for a fact he just wanted to make me say it… confess. “Eh, milk is rather boring. Perhaps it can wait a while longer.” I felt him grin against my neck.

He hooked his fingers under my jumper and worked it over my head. He took his time unbuttoning my shirt and stopped halfway down, shoving it off my shoulders and kissing along my collarbone. The protrusion poking at my spine reminded me how far we’d come since our first time, and I smiled remembering the more innocent version of the man now grinding against me. When his thumbs flicked across my nipples, his teeth in my shoulder, I remembered why this version wasn’t anything to complain about either.

I let my head drop against his shoulder again and kissed his neck. My fingers made their way into his curls, and I tugged gently. His lips were already parted when our mouths connected, and I slipped my tongue across his, desperate to taste him. His breath was hot as it filled my mouth, and I hummed. No one in my life had ever turned me on the way he did.

When he palmed my prick through my trousers, the sound I made was utterly indecent. He must have agreed, because I felt him twitch against me. I squeezed his thigh. “I want you to fuck me.” He stopped, his eyebrow quirked when I glanced up at him. “What? It’s been ages since you’ve done any of the work. I want to feel your cock inside of me, and I’m not keen on waiting. Fuck. Me.”

I quickly stood and shimmied out of my trousers and pants before reclaiming my seat on the edge of the bed. With his arms around my waist, he hugged me tight against him and pulled me further toward the middle of the bed. I swung my legs up so I could get onto my knees, my thighs spread apart with his between them and I rolled my hips, his cock pressing hard against my arse. 

I bent to reach for the lube in the nightstand when I heard his zipper fall, and a chill ran the length of my spine. As I straightened up to hand him the small bottle, the tails of my shirt brushed my erection. I shivered again. No sooner had I heard the quiet squirt of the lube, his slick fingers were already teasing at my arse. He wriggled two inside, knowing full well I liked the burn, and twisted a little to get past his first knuckle. Only a few seconds passed before I pressed against him, urging him deeper. He obliged and contorted his hand so he could brush my prostate. I yelped.

Anxious didn’t begin to describe how I felt. I wanted him, and I wanted him immediately. Fingers wouldn’t do. I reached behind me to stroke his cock through his pants and smiled when I felt how damp they already were. I worked his balls against my palm, relishing the feeling of them through the cotton. “Fuck me. Please. I need you.” I was embarrassed by how pitiful I sounded.

He extracted his fingers, and I hissed at the void. I was already tugging the fabric of his pants down to speed things along. His cock was so hard against my hand, and I couldn’t wait to sit on it. I rocked forward onto my palms to give him an angle and waited. Once I felt the head of his prick pressed against me, I sunk onto him. I felt full with him inside of me, the pressure building more with every centimeter I took in.

Behind me, Sherlock was stone still… It appeared as if he had stopped breathing; so had I. His fists were tangled in my shirt, and he seemed content to let me lower myself around him, use him. Our lungs remained starved of air until our thighs were finally flush. Once they were, I ground down against him, feeling the maddening tension of his cock as it jutted deep inside me, the slip-slide of him against my prostate as I rocked my hips. My fingers scrambled for purchase on fabric stretched tight and clinging to his thighs. When I started to move in earnest, the guttural moan in my ear was enough to already push me close to the edge… Three years in and just the sound of his pleasure was still nearly enough to bring me off. He was incredible.

The spontaneity of it all, the fact he was still fully clothed, save for the bits buried inside me, made it all seem even filthier. It was barely late morning, for fuck’s sake. Sunlight streamed through the window while I writhed on his prick, and my only regret was being so thoroughly unable to see him bathed in the natural light. Probably for the best, no need to further shorten what seemed like it might already be a rather speedy performance on my part.

I leaned back into him, my back resting on his heaving chest, my arm snaking around his neck. His hand slipped under my shirt, and he massaged his palm against and down from my hip bone, his finger splayed around me, teasing but not quite touching. When he finally took hold of me, his first stroke made me shudder. The flick of his thumb over the head of my cock drove me wild, and he knew it. He chuckled and bit at my earlobe when he did it a second time. My fingernails dug into his neck. I repeatedly rose off his prick to fuck his fist and then slammed back onto it. Eventually, he started to buck his hips up to meet my rhythm, the force of it thrusting me harder into his hand. I keened at his every move, air becoming more and more of a hot commodity. I struggled to take a full breath but didn’t mind. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I started to shake. My cock ached in his able hands. I tightened as I came across his fist, soiling my shirt tails and leaving a thick, white trail on the bed sheets. He pumped me through it, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear as he hummed with approval. When his hand moved toward our faces, I dropped my head to the side so I could watch him lick my ejaculate from between his fingers. I’d never seen anything so licentious in my life. After he was satisfied with the clean-up, he kissed me. My neck was craned almost to the point of discomfort, but it was worth it. “I love the way I taste on your tongue,” I whispered against the kiss before lapping at the inside of his mouth once again. A carnal groan reverberated through his chest in response.

His arms wrapped tight around my midsection, as much to restrict my movement as to gain leverage. He pounded up into me, harder and faster than strictly necessary but my body welcomed the abuse. He was close, and the only thing I enjoyed more than my own orgasms were his. He slammed me down hard enough to make me hiss when he came, but I was happy for it. His cry was loud and sharp in my ear as the warmth of his seed spread inside me. He trembled, and I felt his cock twitch several more times as I drained him. I couldn’t help but smile. I kissed him again, harder, and a pitiful whimper escaped his throat when I tugged at his curls.

I sighed. “I love your cock.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” he panted.

“Eh…” I shrugged. “You sure as shit never buy milk.”

He laughed and shoved me forward, extracting himself from me. “To think I fell for you.”

I faced him and rose to my knees. “To think I helped you do it.” I held his face between my hands and kissed him, our mostly deflated cocks lazily grazing each other in the process.

He pulled back and stared at me with all the wonder of our first introduction still fresh in his eyes. “I love you… my John.” Those words still gave me chills.

“I love you, too.” Our lips met again, but we were quickly interrupted when the door buzzed. “Harry!”

We dressed quickly, knowing full well our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, would be quick to let our guest in. I heard her call from the bottom of the staircase, alerting us to the fact we had company. I wished for once we’d been a bit louder so she might know to buy us some time. When I opened the door to our flat, Harry practically fell into my arms.

“I’ve missed you, John.” She hugged me tight.

“Yeah… You too.” I squeezed back and then held her at arm’s length, taking her in. She looked significantly worse for the wear. The years of abuse she’d inflicted on herself, inside and out, were certainly taking their toll. It broke my heart. “Come in, please.”

She turned and hoisted something off of the floor behind her. “I said I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

It was true, but I’d already forgotten it by the time she’d arrived. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Is she—”

“He,” she corrected me, spinning back around with a car seat dangling at her knees. She struggled to lug it in and set it on the coffee table.

“He,” I repeated her, stoic. The blanket over top of it wriggled. “May I?”

She nodded. “I named him Hamish… after you… well… your middle name.”

I was shocked on multiple levels. My sister, who was a total wreck, had turned up after years away. She had a child… a son… which seemed unlikely to be accidental as she was a lesbian. And she’d named him after me, despite the fact she’d spent years hating me… or at least resenting me. I removed the blanket to reveal a wiggly baby, struggling against his restraint. “My god, Harry… He’s beautiful.”

She smiled, but she still looked sad. “You should get him out… I just… I need to make a phone call.

“Sure, sure.” I pointed toward the hall where she could have a bit of privacy.

Suddenly, Sherlock was at my side. “No, I don’t think—”

“It’s fine, darling. She’s my sister.” I glared when he tried to protest a second time.

Harry went off down the hallway, and I started to fumble with the five-point buckle of the car seat. I suppose I was a bit rusty. It’d been years. Sherlock stood steadfastly by my side, but I could feel tension resonating from him. I largely ignored it in favour of holding the baby in my arms as quickly as humanly possible. A few moments later, I finally had the infuriating plastic unsnapped. Just before I lifted the baby out, Sherlock’s hand on my arm stopped me. I looked at him briefly and thought he mouthed the words ‘I’m sorry.’

_BANG!_

As many times as I had startled at a car backfiring, thinking it sounded like a gunshot, there was no mistaking the real thing. I tried to sprint toward the sound, but he tugged in earnest at my arm to try and stop me. He didn’t want me to see the scene on our bedroom floor. He didn’t want me to watch my sister’s blood pooling around her head or see it sprayed in a fine mist on our wall. He didn’t want me to read the letter lying millimeters from her hand. He knew it would all break my heart, and there was no guardian angel protecting me anymore. I pulled free of his grip and hit my knees when I reached our threshold, a scream caught in my throat. I had somehow blocked out the squeal of the orphaned infant in the background.

Sherlock was there in an instant, next me to me, dragging me back to the parlour. He kept whispering to me that he’d phone DI Lestrade, but it was too late for her. I know it pained him to do so, but he handed me the folded paper I’d seen next to her… her body. I read it while we waited on the police.

_Dear John,_

_If you’re reading this, it means I actually went through with it. Good for me, finally following through with something. I guess you can’t fail forever, eh?_

 _I have a feeling you’re probably angry with me, but don’t be. I… I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I should never have blamed you for so much. I was meant to protect you… your big sister. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t really upset with you. My therapist says it’s called projecting. I wonder what he’d say about this. Relief he won’t have to listen to me anymore? Or disappointment I won’t be paying him what I owe him? Maybe both… probably both._

_You must have questions about Hamish. I guess… I thought if I had someone who would love me unconditionally, someone who counted on me, I could be better. He was going to be the answer to all of my problems. Except, I’m not better, John. You’re better. You’ve always been better._

_Don’t worry… I stayed clean while I was pregnant. He’s perfect. That was the first thing I did right in years. This… This is the second. I knew his name the instant I saw his face. I think he’s always been yours. You deserve him, deserve to be a parent for all the reasons I don’t. I used an anonymous donor, and the paperwork is all in order; you won’t have to fight for him._

_Just, ya know, pick up where you left off. I’m sure you were a great father. I’m actually not worried… I know you’ll take care of him. And I hope you’re really happy with Sherlock. I don’t really know him, but if he’s good enough for you…_

_God, John, please don’t hate me for this. I know I’ve left a mess behind… in more ways than one. Just don’t hate me. Please? When you’ve fucked up as much as I have, dying just hurts less than living. Please don’t hate me. I love you. I always loved you. I never said it enough, god help me… I can’t change that now, though. I wish I could make you promise not to hate me before I go. Just one more favour… one more favour I don’t deserve… Tell Hamish his mummy loves him and don’t hate me._

_Love, Harry_

The parchment floated to the ground, my tears blurring the ink as they fell. Sherlock… I could barely make out that he was settled next to me with Hamish in his arms. He held him out to me, and I instinctively took him. I stopped shaking enough to keep him steady. One thing… One tiny thing out of place. I pressed my lips to his forehead. His hand clutched at my chin, and I cried more.

When I dried my tears, I looked him over. He couldn’t have been more than three months old. I could see he had Harry’s mouth, her lips. Remarkably though… through some twist of genetics, fighting through her hazel eyes and whatever her donor brought to the table… my own blue eyes stared back up at me, wide and trusting.

“He has your eyes.” Sherlock nuzzled at my cheek. Sometimes he still had a knack for knowing what I was thinking.

“Nah, they’re probably his father’s.”

He placed a gentle kiss at my temple. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

I closed my eyes, trying to blink back the next onslaught of tears. How was he mine? How were either of them mine? “Are you ready for this?” I nodded toward the baby.

“I’m ready for anything with you.” He sounded sincere. It was comforting.

The police eventually showed up, and Lestrade was kind enough to claim they didn’t know where she’d gotten the gun I wasn’t meant to have. He called it a personal favour, to thank Sherlock for his help over the preceding months.

The custody exchange went smoothly as well. We converted the spare room to a nursery, and Hamish really was perfect. Sherlock was so much more, so much better than even I realized. He took to fatherhood very quickly, but I guess he had a long history of being responsible for another life. 

We didn’t speak much about… that day… but there was one thing that always weighed on my mind. He had grabbed my arm and told me he was sorry before the gunshot. I had to know. I had to ask him. “Did you know?”

“No, at least… not at first.”

“Tell me… please?”

“When Harry first came around, I had no idea. Even after I saw Hamish… It wasn’t until she excused herself that I realized. That’s why I tried to stop her.” He paused. “Plus, I felt a presence.”

“A presence?” I didn’t understand.

“Her angel. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his descent into the flat. He was with us.”

“Why didn’t he stop her?” Obviously, it could be done. I was living, breathing proof of that.

He took my hands and led me to the sofa. We sat, and he absently stroked my palm with his thumb. “Someone in your family was fated to die by service revolver… each of you equally at risk. Your father briefly considered it during the war. Your mother contemplated it after your father’s passing, and she’d have done it. You—” The word caught in his throat, tears glazing his eyes and threatening to fall. He coughed it loose. “You thought about it… too hard sometimes. And then there was Harry. The idea of taking your life in such a way haunted each of you. Call it the Watson curse.” 

My gaze immediately shot in the direction of Hamish’s room, where he was sound asleep. “Will he—”

“No!” He didn’t hesitate. “It’s over. It’s been done.”

“Could it have been me? If I had done it, would she—” I was interrupted by Sherlock’s arms around my neck, his lips pressed against me mine.

He broke the kiss after a few long moments. “Don’t. You can’t think that way. I’d be lost without my ward.”

I smiled, but only barely. “Did you know about Hamish? Know that he’d come into my life?”

“I knew there were paths which would lead to it, while there were others that… well… that would lead elsewhere.”

“When did I set the proper path in motion? What turn did I take that led me here?”

A soft grin graced his perfect lips. “My fall. You ‘d never have gotten him if you hadn’t left the church for me.”

“Was it one of the factors—”

“You deserved to be a father again, John. You’re an amazing father. I wanted that for you more than anything. But…” He rested his forehead against mine. “I fell for you. Hamish or no, you were the only factor that mattered to me.”

“And now? What now?”

“And now we live. It only gets better from here. No more heartache for John Watson.”

I nudged his cheek with my nose. “Promise?”

“Swear.” He kissed my jaw. “You know, he’ll be asleep for another hour. Do you wanna—”

“Oh, god, yes!” I practically dragged him to the bedroom, shedding clothes as we went.

When we were interrupted by the baby’s cry, we both smiled. Best interruption ever. I rocked Hamish back to sleep while Sherlock softly played the violin, and my life was finally enviable. For us, the sun rose and set with that little boy. He was perfect, and he made us perfect.

My name is John Watson, and this has been the story of how I lost my faith in the arms of an angel, a story which could not be told until you knew me and understood how I became the man standing before you. I have spoken absolute truth. I wouldn’t change a single moment of my tale. And, finally… I am _truly_ happy.


End file.
